


balancing on breaking branches

by carefulren



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Stucky - Freeform, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, Whumpfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28818072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: Past and present are blurring around Bucky while he's sick, from moments alone in Romania and then back to the present. Luckily, he has his own tether to the present in the form of one Captain America.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	balancing on breaking branches

_The apartment around Bucky is run down, a rough portrait of an attempted domesticated life in Romania. A guise, Bucky thinks, whipping a sharp frown at the peeling wallpaper and carpet stains. The couch underneath him has been broken down to hard lumps that do nothing to soften the ache deep within his bones-_

“-Buck?”

Bucky blinks slowly; Steve’s baby blues crowd his vision. There’s present worry in Steve’s eyes, and he brushes the backs of his fingers to Bucky’s forehead, cursing softly under his breath.

“That snow really did you in, huh?”

Bucky opens his mouth to speak, but all that he manages is a pained rasp of the word “yes” before he’s doubling over into a coughing fit, fingers digging into the plush couch cushion below him.

“Shit, hang on, Buck. I’ll get some water.”

Bucky reaches out, his fingers just barely brushing the back of Steve’s shirt, and he watches Steve disappear into the kitchen-

_-The kitchen’s practically empty, and often times, the water that pours from the faucet is a rustic brown that splatters in the stained sink. Still, Bucky’s throat is fiercely throbbing along each, swollen swallow, so he stumbles to his feet, shaking like a single leaf desperately hanging onto the fleeting remmants of summer, and shuffles into the kitchen with a small, torn blanket pulled tightly over his shoulders._

_He turns on the facuet, paying no mind to the creaking rattle of the pipes struggling underneath, bends forward, the blanket falling to the floor, and shoves his lips up to the stuttering stream of brown water-_

“-Slow sips, okay? We still aren’t sure what we’re dealing with yet, and I don’t want you throwing all this back up.”

It takes Bucky an alarmingly long time to focus his thoughts on the cool glass of clean, clear water being pushed gently into his hand. He sips at it, his burning throat craving the brief relief the water brings, but before he can chug it, Steve’s taking the glass from him, and it’s not until the glass is gone that Bucky realizes his hand’s shaking, along with his entire body. He’s freezing.

Steve’s worrying his bottom lip as he reaches behind Bucky to snag a thick, warm throw blanket off the back of the couch. He pulls it over Bucky’s shivering frame, and Bucky’s quick to tighten it around himself, his teeth borderline chattering.

Steve’s hand finds his forehead again, and Bucky leans into the cold touch with a shudder.

“Geez, Buck. You feel even warmer. I’m going to find the thermometer.”

Bucky jerks through a nod, and Steve pads quickly out of the living room-

_-Bucky’s stomach turns the second the water sinks to his stomach. Still, it brings brief relief to his throat. He brings his head up, swiping the back of his arm across his mouth, shivering violently when a drop of cold water falls from his hair to his neck. He’s quick to snag the blanket up off the floor and wrap it back around himself, briefly focusing on how dizzy the fast movement leaves him._

_He sags back against the counter, shaking and coughing, and he takes stock of how truly terrible he feels. He slaps is own palm against his forehead, finding a sticky heat that’s concerning, even for him. He stumbles out of the kitchen and down the small hall to his bathroom, almost ripping open the mirror the dig around for the old, mercury thermometer he found partially hidden under the kitchen sink months before._

_He slides down onto the floor and draws his knees up tightly to his chest as he slips the thermometer under his tongue. Counting 180 seconds when his mind is hot with fever is harder than he expects, but when he hits the final number, he snags the thermometer, bringing it close to blurring eyes to see the 102.7 degrees Fahrenheit reading-_

“-102.7,” Steve announces, and Bucky whips a frown to see Steve staring down at an ear thermometer, his face etched in concern. He hadn’t heard Steve come back in, nor did he feel the thermometer being pressed into his ear.

“I don’t know about this, Bucky. Maybe I should call Bruce...”

Bucky shakes his head, one hand slipping from his current blanket cocoon to drop against Steve’s arm. “It’s just a cold,” he tries, his voice cracking along each word, and Steve frowns sharply at him.

“This isn’t a cold, Buck. I’m going to call Bruce.”

“Steve,” Bucky tries again, coughing against the word, but Steve’s already got his cell phone pressed to his ear, and then he’s talking quickly, concern evident in his tone-

_-Bucky had thought this was just a cold. He had started feeling ill a few days prior, but it wasn’t anything alarming: a small headache, congestion, a few sneezes and coughs here and there. But then he woke up this morning, and he felt as if he’s been hit square on by a freight train. The nagging notion in the back of his mind that he needs a doctor is persistence, but where can he go? Who would be willing to look over the Winter Soldier? Who would be willing to help a weapon?_

_Shivering, he hugs his knees tighter to his chest. The bathroom floor is cold beneath him, cold and hard, but he can’t muster up enough will to move-_

“-Bruce said I’m worrying too much.” Steve sighs, dropping down onto the edge of the coffee table across from Bucky. He drags his fingers roughly through his short hair.

“Maybe he’s right,” Bucky tries, pulling the blanket over his mouth to cough harshly into it. He offers a weak smile, and Steve returns it, tired but still there.

“I’m always going to worry about you, Buck.” Steve leans forward and drops his hand atop Bucky’s thigh, and Bucky focuses on the warmth that spreads across his leg from the touch alone.

“You’ll go gray,” Bucky teases, and Steve rolls his eyes and hops to his feet.

“I think Tony’s going to have that covered for all of us.” Steve smiles, but Bucky can still make out the hints of worry spread across Steve’s face, with his smile a little too tight and never reaching his blue eyes.

“I think we should move you to the bedroom. You’ll probably be warmer and more comfortable.”

Bucky agrees, but the second he’s pulled to his feet, his vision tunnels, graying around the edges, and Steve’s pressing against him, keeping him grounded, as he guides him to the bedroom-

_-He’s alone. That’s all he’ll ever be. His memories are shattered fragments of comradery, war, friendship, hurt, love, Steve. He looks up from where he’s had his head resting atop his knees. Steve. He’s the one memory that always finds its way back into Bucky’s mind: his kind smile, his protective nature, his poor jokes, his easy laugh. Steve, he thinks._

_It’s not until the tear drips from his chin that Bucky realizes he’s crying, and he’s shaking. His head feels as if it’s being ripped into two, and every inch of his skin hurts. More so, he’s so incredibly tired of being the monster he’s been programmed to be. He’s tired of the gaping hole in his chest that’s filled only with cold loneliness. He’s just tired, and more than anything else right now, all he wants is-_

“-Steve!”

Steve jerks around, his shoulder hitting the doorway, and he races back to the bed, dropping down onto the edge of it and carefully brushing a few damp strands of hair from Bucky’s face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t go,” Bucky chokes out, and Steve’s face crumbles, his resolve visibly cracking along with Bucky’s.

“Buck, I’m... I’m not. I’m just going to get medicine.”

Bucky blinks away his old apartment that’s threatening to cloud his vision once more, focusing instead on Steve and Steve only. He struggles to free his hand from the mess of blankets piled atop him and latches strong fingers to Steve’s wrist. “I don’t want to be alone,” he says almost desperately, and for a moment, he can no longer read Steve’s expression, but then Steve’s kicking his shoes off and climbing into the bed, nudging Bucky over, and Bucky obliges quickly, scooting to give Steve space.

“You really need medicine,” Steve mutters, but even as he says it, he tugs Bucky flush to his chest, and Bucky’s fingers curl into Steve’s shirt, right above Steve’s heart, the rhythmic thump tethering him to the present.

“Later,” he mumbles, pressing his face to crook of Steve’s neck. “Just... stay. Please?” He sighs when Steve’s arms tighten around him.

“Of course, Buck. I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "exile" by Taylor Swift. 
> 
> Come say hi or drop a prompt off on tumblr :) (@toosicktoocare)


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